Best Served Cold
by kashkow
Summary: This is the follow up story to The Collection. You really should read that first or you will be a bit lost. Some spoilers through the last episode of Season eight (Which was awesome! Just saying). As you may guess by the title Revenge is the order of the day, but is Dean the only one bringing it? Rated M for language.


Best Served Cold

By Ellen H.

Authors Note: Wow, After that finale I am just blown away with what is going to happen next, can not wait to see it. Just so happy with the last five minutes even before the angels fell, finally the brothers are getting it back together like they are supposed to be. Since I HAVE to wait, I will sublimate by writing. This is the second part of my story The Collection. If you have not read that you may not understand why things are going on, but you can just enjoy what I hope it is still a good story. This is set BEFORE the 8th season finale. Sam and Dean know what the third trial is, but they have not made the final moves yet to set it up, spoilers are possible up to that point.

Chapter 1-

Dean Winchester stepped out of his classic Impala, his baby, and stretched. As much as he loved driving her, he had to admit that after all day on the road it felt good to move around and stretch out his legs. At least he was not as smashed up in the car as his little brother usually was. Not that Sam was with him for this trip. No, Sam was back at the Men of Letters facility taking it easy, Dean hoped. He had left very definite instructions for Sam to rest as much as possible, of course that meant that his geek of a brother would be working on his computer at god knows what or sitting in the library reading like he had been for the last two weeks.

Sam seemed to be determined to read everything that was in there, and he seemed to want to do it before he performed the third trial. Dean tried not to read desperation in that, but he knew that Sam, despite his optimism at the beginning of the trials, was not feeling like he was going to survive this thing. Dean could not really blame him as his body was increasingly failing him. He didn't know what he would have been like in the same circumstances. Dean counted on his physical prowess, it was what he was. As much as Dean lived in his body though, Sam lived in his mind, and maybe that was why it had been for the best that it was his brother that had ended up doing the trials. And this way Dean was there to protect Sam, to take care of him. It felt right. Like it was what he was supposed to do. Hunting and caring for his brother, it was what he did best.

He clumped toward the houseboat that belonged to Garth Fitzgerald. The skinny little hunter was currently in residence even though Kevin was not. Dean had made the trip from the facility to see the 'New Bobby' as Garth had taken to calling himself, though not in Dean's hearing, without Sam for a very good reason. It was because what he and Garth were up to was not something that he cared to have Sam involved in. Or more properly, was not something of which he was sure Sam would approve.

Last month Sam had been kidnapped, or _collected_, for a rich dude's supernatural zoo. Sam had been one of the exhibits, locked in a cell and treated like some kind of freak. The man who had done it, some billionaire dick by the name of Holbrook, had hired a hunter, and Dean really didn't think he deserved that distinction, by the name of Edmunds to collect supernatural creatures. Edmunds had collected several different types of creatures for Holbrook, and they were locked up in supernaturally enhanced cells in a warehouse that Holbrook owned in a small town in upstate New York.

The rich bastard had collections of painting, statues, coins, jewels, cars, and all kinds of crap, and he had to go one step further. While Dean couldn't understand it himself, he could have let it go if he had happened to hear about the creature collection, but it had become personal when Sam had been taken. Holbrook had heard about Sam from Edmunds, and had read the books that Chuck had written that talked about all the things that Sam had gone through. Evidently that was enough to get Sam added to the zoo.

Between Sam and a few of the other inmates they had managed to escape just as Dean appeared to save his brother, though Sam managed to get himself shot in the process. Edmunds had gotten away, and Dean had been forced to satisfy his urge for vengeance with a little bit of vandalism. Sam had urged him to let it go, saying that they had bigger fish to fry with the whole closing the gates of hell thing. But Dean was not prepared to do that. Someone had taken his brother from him, _again_. They had caged him, and they had hurt him, and Dean could not let that go.

So, since they were in a bit of a lull while Sam healed up and marshaled his strength, and since Dean was feeling a little bored since Sam would only accept so much hovering, he had put his mind to revenge, his new little hobby. In order to do what he wanted to do he had asked Garth for a little bit of computer help. Mostly they had been working over the phone, but Dean was ready to step up his efforts, and he thought that warranted an in-person visit, that and Sam had threatened to burn his memory foam mattress if he didn't go do something else besides hover. He had been making short forays out of their facility for the last two weeks, being gone several hours at a time under the guise of giving Sam his space, but mostly just to cover for when he made his move.

Dean pounded on the main cabin door and then let himself in. Garth was seated at the desk working on a computer and talking into a cell phone that was wedged between one bony shoulder and his ear. It looked really uncomfortable, but that did not seem to keep the skinny little hunter from typing rapidly into his laptop. Dean listened as Garth gave out some information on a wraith. Evidently he was helping out a hunter on the job. It made Dean ache for Bobby, but he pushed that back down. Bobby was in heaven now, enjoying the peace he deserved. If Garth could pick up a little bit of the slack that Bobby's passing had left, then it was a good thing. Garth finally finished up the call and turned to Dean.

"Deano, how's it hangin' ya idjit?" He asked in his squeaky voice. Dean scowled at him.

"Really?" Dean asked. He was used to Garth's weird ways and attempts to talk 'Bobby' but sometimes he got a little sideways. "Why don't we just stick with 'hi'?" He suggested and held up a hand as Garth started to stand up with his arms open for a hug. "And when I say that I mean _only_ a 'hi'." Garth shrugged and turned back to his computer, bringing up several web pages.

"Like I told you I think I found an opportunity on Target # 2.

"Could we maybe just refer to them by their names?" Dean suggested as he fiddled with an incredibly ugly little statue. The other man rolled his eyes as if the suggestion were ludicrous.

"As if." Gart said and went back to typing.

"Are you suddenly a teen age girl? I get enough of that with Sammy, I don't need another one." Dean said.

"How is Sam? He wasn't looking too good last time I saw him." Garth had stopped by the facility on his way through about two weeks ago.

"He's feeling better. He's not going to be good until we can get these trials done."

"You tell him about what you are doing?"

"Not in so many words." Dean hedged. He was pretty sure that Sam knew he was up to something, and that it had to do with Holbrook and Edmunds, but he didn't know the details, Dean thought. Garth rolled his eyes again.

"Yeah right." Dean was pretty sure he heard an 'idjit' thrown in there under Garth's breathe, but he let it go.

Over the last two weeks with Garth's help Dean had been indulging in what could be described as stalking. But his stalking was limited to two people, Edmunds, a hunter and Holbrook, chairman of the board of Tri-Brook industries.

Of the two Holbrook was easiest to track. He had a hand in just about every pie. From import/export to manufacturing to telecommunications and pharmaceuticals, the company was not just diverse, it was insidious. Garth had found links from Tri-Brook to just about every state in the union and half the countries on the planet. They had a very big web presence and their chairman was well known and followed everywhere by cameras.

It was because of that ubiquitous presence that Dean was having to work so hard on Holbrook. He was under no illusion about their comparative worth. Holbrook could buy just about anything he wanted, including round the clock security and Dean...well not so much. It wasn't like Dean could hope to match resources. But the man had to be alone sometime, and Dean would be there when it happened.

He had been trained for years in the belief that hunters never killed humans unless there was no other choice to protect yourself or innocent people, and he was not going to violate that now. Even if his own conscience would allow it, his own personal extra-large economy sized Jimminy Cricket would have a melt down when, not if, he found out. Dean cared too much about how his brother saw him to ever take that step over the line. Even for what he felt was righteous revenge.

So, until he could get a face to face meeting he had hit the man where it hurt. He had cost him money. His first blow had been back there in that museum where Sam and the supernatural creatures were kept. On his way out that night that Sam was rescued he had done his best to destroy as many of the modern 'super' cars as he could. His knowledge of cars allowed him to destroy the engines just as much as he had done to the outsides. He figured that the damaged was probably in the millions at that facility alone. He would have torched the whole damn place, but Sam had forbid him since the paintings and antiquities were irreplaceable, and even while they were privately held they were still a legacy to the future.

Once he had gotten Sam back to the facility and recouping Dean had stepped up the figurative destruction. He had Garth get him a list of Holbrook's personal holdings and he had started what Garth liked to refer to as Dean's sacking of Rome. Dean had looked that up, and he was not really sure that he appreciated being compared to barbarians, but since they were bad ass barbarians who brought down the Roman Empire, he could deal.

Dean might not have Holbrook's money, but what he did have was a network of people who owed him favors and who did not bulk at doing something a little illegal, or a lot illegal if there was no chance of them being connected to the act. By using his contacts and Garth's information he had burned down two vacation homes, one in the Hampton's and one in Vail, and blew up a beach house in North Carolina. No one had been hurt, and everything was carefully staged as to appear accidental, the beach house had happened in the middle of a storm out on one of those islands, and who was to say that the wind and tide hadn't gotten a little worse than expected? There was no evidence left to the contrary. Dean had even got to do a little on his own, with Garth's help. A certain yacht, a boat that was big enough to be used as a freaking ferry boat, had broken away from its moorings late one night at a dock in Louisiana. Somehow it worked its way out into the deeper part of the bay, and had an unfortunate accident that resulted in it sinking out there. Dean had found that very satisfying when he found out how much it would cost for Holbrook to salvage it. Dean was very good at that kind of stuff. A lifetime as a hunter of supernatural creatures had prepared him well for stealthy access to just about anywhere, and he could deal with most alarm systems and cameras.

Dean had taken a good deal of satisfaction in knowing that Holbrook suspected exactly who was responsible for the damage. Holbrook had mobilized his security forces, many hundred strong according to Garth, and they were on the look out for the "terrorist". It was telling to Dean that Holbrook had not contacted the police about this, beyond reporting the obvious destruction of his own property to his insurance company since he couldn't exactly hide it. Dean was sure that insurance company was looking at Holbrook long and hard about now. In fact Dean had already made a few anonymous calls about insurance fraud and cash flow problems….

Holbrook was a problem for the long haul, someone who Dean could and would harass to the grave if necessary. It was Edmunds that he really wanted though. Being a hunter, his sin was greater in Dean's eyes. Holbrook was an entitled prick, but Edmunds was a traitor, a traitor to the hunter cause. There was not possible justification for Edmunds betrayal of a fellow hunter. And then there was what had happened in the past.

Dean remembered that instance almost twenty years ago, as he remembered every time that he had let Sam down, had failed to protect what was most precious in his life. He had been so damn excited to go out with the 'men' on that werewolf hunt. He had been fifteen and quite full of his hunting prowess. He had cavalierly bid Sam goodbye, consigning his little brother, and Sam had still been _little_ then, to what Dean considered a benign sort of hell, learning Latin with Jim Murphy. Of course he was well aware that his brainy little brother already knew the Latin in question. The little geek had been reading it on his own for a year now. Of course John would not know that as he was never there to see how Sam applied himself to learning that kind of thing as opposed to the physical training. As long as Sam could recite the standard exorcism correctly John was satisfied.

The hunting trip had been everything that he had expected. Crude jokes, tall tales made even taller by the fact that they were mostly true, and a werewolf that he managed to kill with one bullet to the heart. He had basked in his father's approval and in the teasing of the other two men that he considered like uncles or cousins. They had lingered in the woods after burning the bodies of the pack that they had killed, using the excuse that they needed to be sure they had gotten all of them, but really just taking a day and night to relax in a life with too few such opportunities.

Dean had bitterly regretted the enjoyment he had taken in that rest when he found out what had happened back at Blue Earth. Some hunter, drunk and surly with it, had gone to Jim's in search of silver bullets and pre-made salt rounds. Not all that unusual really, Jim always was happy to supply anyone who came through, at cost of materials if possible or at least with some kind of help to off set the costs. Murphy, a poorly paid pastor in a small congregation, could not afford to just give it away, though Dean knew for a fact that he had allowed hunters who were perpetually a little short to pay him later. This hunter, Edmunds, had not been willing to pay, and he had demanded access to Jim's stash. Dean himself had made a batch of silver bullets just before they had left, taking some for his own use on the hunt. The salt rounds were more plentiful, as they were cheaper; however they took time to make. Sam had been helping with those while Dean did the more involved, precious, and dangerous silver melting.

Murphy had refused and the hunter had attacked him. Dean could still remember the huge bruise on the side of Jim's face, and the way the pastor had been forced to use a sling on his arm for almost a week after having his shoulder wrenched by Edmunds. There was no telling what the man would have done if Sam had not been there. From the story that Jim told he had been in dire straits, literally up against the wall, with the choice of a dislocated arm or giving up his stash of bullets, and knowing that Sam was in the house and could be exposed to this danger. He had been just short of giving the man what he wanted when they had heard the action of a shot gun and Sam's voice telling Edmunds to get out.

Dean could still remember Jim's grin as he had announced that he had never seen so much of Dean _and_ John in Sam before that moment, except for his stubbornness of course. He told them how Sam had held the gun steady and how he had positioned himself so that he had a clear shot at Edmunds while leaving Jim clear. The kid had been cool and un-rattled, and when Edmunds had made his move Sam had done what Dean had taught him, and shot the dick in the leg with a salt round. Edmunds had fled, though not soon enough to keep Jim Murphy from putting a blessed iron round through his back window and windshield. Dean hadn't thought the pastor had a vengeful bone in his body, but he had let his temper get away from him that night, and Dean knew it was mostly because of Sam having been there.

Sam for his part didn't want to talk about it, and had blushed like a girl when everyone had made much of him and kidded him about being ready for his own hunts. He had shrugged it off as what anyone would have done. It had taken a late night nightmare which had driven Sammy to climb into his bed, something he had not done in several years, before Dean found out far from being proud of himself Sam was ashamed at how scared he had been. Dean's assurance that everyone was scared sometimes had fallen on deaf ears and it had taken another week before Sam had been able to sleep with out nightmares, about that incident at least.

Dean had never known that hunter's name. He had just assumed that John and Jim had taken steps to take care of the guy, though he had never really considered exactly what he expected them to do. He was sure that Jim Murphy had probably forgiven him, that was his way, but he was also equally sure that he had made it clear that Edmunds was not welcome in Blue Earth and probably anywhere else on the network of hunters he worked with like Bobby Singer's place. He was also sure that John Winchester would NOT have forgiven the man, and he was sure that at some time John had expressed his feelings to Edmunds in person, as had Caleb and Joshua probably. He knew that they had never encountered the man again until he had kidnapped Sam. The fact that Edmunds had turned tail and ran that night when faced with Dean's wrath, just as he had so many years before with Sam, told Dean everything he needed to know about what Edmunds was like as a hunter and as a man.

Dean had asked Garth about him, and the skinny little guy had said that he was aware of the man, but he was not part of Garth's hunter dispatch crew. A little digging had turned up that he was something of a pariah among the rest of the hunters, ill-liked and less trusted. No one wanted to partner with him, and no one had a good word to say about him beyond the fact that he was still alive after all these years, though even then they were quick to point that the man he _had_ partnered with years before was not. Hunters had a long memory for things like that.

Just like with Holbrook, Dean knew he couldn't kill Edmunds outright, but he was going to have a _word_ with him in person, man to man, and should Edmunds try to escalate that meeting beyond talk then Dean was not going to be sorry, and Dean _would_ be the man walking away. So far Edmunds had eluded both Dean _and_ Garth's search for him, though a little computer hacking on Garth's part had shown that Edmunds was still on Holbrook's payroll, still taking the man's dirty money.

Dean would find him, no matter how much he tried to hide behind Holbrook. It was just a matter of time. He was pretty sure that Holbrook would kick Edmunds to the curb sooner or later. It was just a matter of Holbrook getting everything he wanted out of him first. Dean suspected that Holbrook was going to use Edmunds to try to get at Dean, after all Edmunds would know the circles in which Dean moved to some degree. Of course Sam and Dean had made a practice of staying off everyone's radar as much as possible in the last several years, ever since Gordon Walker really, and especially after that bunch went after Sam out in Oklahoma when they had foolishly split up. Dean still deeply regretted that for so many reasons, including exposing Sam to the dregs of the hunting world. If the bastards hadn't been killed by demons shortly later Dean would have been visiting them himself.

Dean had a plan about Edmunds, to draw him out. He figured that he would put out a challenge in the hunting world. Plan a meeting on neutral ground, and see if Edmunds had the guts to show up. Of course knowing the quality of man he was dealing with Dean did not figure that Edmunds would be alone, and he had made his own further plans about that too. The thing was to set it in motion.

"Garth, I need you to get the word out. Tell Edmunds that I will meet him at the Dew Drop Inn, Saint Joseph, Iowa, Two days from now at 6 pm. Add any kind of thing that you think might actually get him there. Can you do that?"

"I'll send out an alert on Garth Book. Everyone that picks it up will send it on to another hunter who isn't on the web. We'll have the most of the hunters across the country on alert in a few hours. If he's out there somewhere he'll get the message."

_Garth Book_? Dean decided not to ask. He really did not want to know. He put the ugly little statue he had been playing with back down and stood up. Back to business.

"You got another of Holbrook's places for me to hit?" He asked. He needed to work off a little energy, and it seemed like a good idea to put it to good use. He wouldn't mind doing a hunt even, but Sam was not up to another hunt, even an easy one, if such a hunt existed, and he had refused to allow Dean to hunt alone. Dean had pointed out that he had hunted alone before, or he could get Garth to go along, but Sam had only produced an epic bitchface. Dean had taken that to mean that Sam did not want Dean hunting without SAM. He could accept that.

"I found this," Garth said, and pulled up another web site. Dean squinted at the information on the screen. It looked like some kind of tax form. He didn't have a clue what he was looking at. He stared at it for a moment then shrugged.

"I got nothing." He admitted. Garth rolled his eyes. He clicked up another page and a picture of a swank looking living room appeared. He hit a button and the pictures started moving in a slide show effect showcasing what was evidently a very fancy apartment. The last shot was out the huge windows looking out over a cityscape past an infinity pool on a balcony. Dean was pretty sure that the balcony was bigger than most regular houses. "Soooo, you going into home decorating, now?" Garth just sighed at his joke.

"It's a privately owned apartment in Chicago. The corporation bought it as a bonus for Holbrook for a record year three years ago. He stays there for like a week every couple of months. Right now he's in New York at the corporate headquarters. The building has security, but I have made you a security badge and a pass card. The staff is pretty big and there is regular turn-over so I don't think anyone is going to notice you being there. They got an email message a week ago with an attachment that was your mug shot from the FBI. I changed it out for another picture, so they will not be looking for you." Garth wheeled around and grabbed a small envelope. Dean took it and peaked inside. There was a license, an ID badge and a pass card and the address of the place. Awesome he could take care of this himself and it was on the way to Iowa. He loved it when a plan came together.

Chapter 2-

Sam pushed away from the kitchen table, bringing his half eaten bowl of soup over to the sink and pouring the leftovers down the disposal. He could have saved it, but there was always the chance that Dean would come back from his trip to see Garth about his new little hobby, and find the half eaten meal. At that point Sam would have to listen to his brother, the man who would subsist on M& Ms and Mountain Dew if allowed, talk to him about nutrition. That was just too weird, even for them.

Sam was ambivalent about the new pass time that Dean had taken up. He had known that Dean would not be able to leave it alone. He had actually been surprised that Dean had yielded to his request that he not burn the paintings and other things in the warehouse in upstate New York. He knew Dean's temper, and it must have been very hard. He was also aware that Dean had done _something_ inside he just wasn't sure what it was.

He understood about the need for revenge. Yeah, he had only to look to his own past to understand. He could still feel the deep abiding rage that had built in him against Lilith after she had taken Dean. The things he had done in the name of revenge, the horrors that he had wrought on the planet, on those that he loved. Only now, with these trials was he redeeming some little part of his soul, purifying it from the taint that had followed him his whole life, but that had come to a culmination with his ill-considered revenge.

He was well aware that Dean's obsession with revenge on Holbrook and Edmunds was nothing like what he had felt for Lilith, and would not have the same far reaching affect. But, he knew his brother, knew his heart and his conscience, and while he was sure that Dean would not try to kill either man, he knew that their Winchester blood, stubborn pride, and yes he would say it, brotherly love, would not allow Dean to let it go. The question was what form would the revenge take exactly?

Dean was a master tactician, having learned at the knees of John Winchester, Jim Murphy, and Bobby Singer. In older times Dean would have been a general, a war chief, or some sort of master planner, someone who led men in war and won empires. While Sam had no objection to taking some of the air out of Holbrook, he was concerned about the man's retaliation against Dean. He had a lot of money and a lot of power and he knew way too much about them, or at least up until the time that Sam had gone to the cage. He thought he knew _them_, but he only knew what they _had_ been. So much had happened in the last two years he was not even sure that he and Dean were the same people any more. And he knew that Holbrook would hold Dean in contempt for what he thought he was: a poor, itinerant hunter, with no prospect of becoming anything more. Well that might be what Edmunds was, but Dean was a whole other creature from Edmunds.

When it came to the other hunter, Sam was under no illusion whatsoever about what revenge Dean would take there. He was sure that word had already gone out over Garth's connections. The little hunter was kind of weird, but he had managed to build up an impressive network of hunters over the last few years, though Sam was not too sure about 'Garth Book'. Did hunters really _need_ a social page? What was next, a dating site? In any event it was just a matter of time till Dean tracked Edmunds down. And he was pretty sure at that point there would be an epic smack down. He had to admit that he kinda wanted to be there for that. He was thirty years old, and he wanted to see his older brother beat up some guy on his behalf. Was that so wrong?

Sam would have liked to have said that he didn't want revenge against Holbrook and Edmunds himself. But purification aside, that just was not going to happen. They had drugged him like an animal and locked him up, and had not felt that was wrong in any way. He wanted revenge. The problem was he knew he was not going to be able to get it like his Winchester blood demanded, and he was strangely ok with that. He knew he was not up to any kind of physical fight, that just was not going to happen, and so he had resigned himself to allowing Dean to take on that part of it, and let him have his little 'secret' doings in the last two weeks. But there was another way for him to get something back, a way that he could do from here.

Sam knew that to really damage Holbrook he would have to hit him in the wallet, it was the only place he really felt anything. Yes, Dean's more physical revenge would humiliate the man, but that would probably be in private, and so it would not have a really lasting effect. Wealth was how Holbrook measured himself and all those about him. Sam had not known the man very long but it was obvious from the start, in his contempt of Sam's protest at being held captive as an exhibit.

Tri-Brook was a multinational corporation. And they were into many different things. He had been able to find out a lot about them online. He had also found a rather lot about them in various discussion groups. It seemed that Tri-Brook was not a generous or kind employer. They were constantly under investigation for one violation or the other for improper pay, lack of benefits, etc. Strangely the charges were always proven unfounded. Most of the employees were badly paid while the board of directors, and most notably the chairman of the board, Holbrook, were exceedingly well paid. Sam had considered that long and hard, and formed a plan.

In this day and age it was the _information_ more than the products that were the most valuable assets of a company: accounts receivable and payable, inventory, financials, etc. Inventory could be insured, data not so much. So he had turned his attention to hacking their systems. He had loaded computer viruses into their computers. He had taken out backup systems and deleted huge swaths of information across their network. He figured he had probably cost the company a good bit of money in the confusion and trying to rebuild. And while he had been tiptoeing through their tulips so to speak he had also been making copies of certain things that he found. Things that the company might not want exposed. He had been sure to send those on to certain government agencies, news outlets, and certain competitors.

He had been forced to step up his hacking skills as the company security had moved in to block him, and that was when he had reached out for some help. It seemed that disgruntled employees were only to happy to help out when it meant getting back at the company that had treated them so badly. He had formed a network of his own, of former and a few present Tri-Brook employees. That network allowed him to keep getting into the system even after the new security measures. He was sure it was quite frustrating for the company.

Since Dean was out of town for at least a day, he figured it was time for another hack. He had found a very important hub for the company. It was in Mississippi, and it was one of their regional computer centers, a hub for their international system. If it were to go down a good portion of their Central and South American offices would be offline. He sent an email, coded, to his contact at the hub. It was a friend of a friend of an ex-employee at the New York main office. After some tentative overtures, and the assurances that nothing would be traced back to him, the man in the hub had agreed to give Sam the codes he needed for access.

Sam had visited a number of hacker sites, finding the codes he would need to do what he wanted to do, along with several methods he had not considered before. It was kind of scary when he thought about it. So much of the modern world counted on computers, and there were people out there, most of them incredibly young, that could do almost anything they wanted to do with them, when they wanted to do it regardless of the security of the system. He had heard that World War three would probably be a virtual war, a hacker's war, and he was starting to believe it. Of course he was ancient compared to almost all of them, and he felt really dumb when he had so much trouble understanding some of the code. But that did not keep him from using what he found.

Once he was into the system it was relatively easy to implement the codes. The instructions had been good, and it took a very short time to load the code, load up the program that would act as the scapegoat if discovered while the real code did the nasty work, and then he got out, covering his tracks all the way. Within three hours the hub would be completely shut down. The shut down was timed to coincide with a system wide back-up that took place weekly. The technicians would be busy with that back up, and he hoped that everyone would be too busy to pay too much attention to his little programs. If the hacker site was correct, then it would take the whole facility down, and it would take a lot of money and a lot of time to get it up and functioning again. Perfect.

After putting the finishing touches on that Sam rose from where he was set up at the kitchen table and after the obligatory dizzy spell he took the laptop and went into his room. It was early, way too early, for a man of his age to be going to bed, but he had found himself wanting to sleep more and more, and he had decided that with Dean gone he could indulge that without pushing the mother hen over the edge.

He changed into the sweat pants and t shirt that he was using for pajamas, and climbed into bed, bringing up his email on his laptop. He worked through the list, deleting the junk and replying to those that needed it. There were a couple of requests from acquaintances in the hunting world for some help of the research kind, and Sam made some notes about what he needed to research tomorrow. He enjoyed helping out with that kind of stuff. It made him feel like he was still in the fight even if he couldn't really be out there hunting himself right now.

He frowned as he saw an email from one of the contacts that he had made in the New York office of Tri-Brook industries. The man was in the building security department. The man had worked for Tri-Brook for five years, and his wife had recently gotten seriously ill. The insurance company, a subsidiary of Tri-Brook, had refused to cover most of her bills under one pretext or another, and when he had tried to use his 401k funds to help pay for the very expensive required treatments, the company had refused to release the monies. All of it was technically allowable under the letter of the contracts, but ethically it was all questionable, and he knew he was not the first. He had posted his problem in a blog that Sam had found, and had, once Sam had convinced him of his seriousness, been all too happy to help. He had been a very valuable ally, and so Sam opened the email to see what had caused the man to contact him. Before this Sam had made all the contact, and he had intentionally not shared his plans or his reasons with the man. He read the words with concern.

"I think I know what you are trying to do. The computer security guys are running around like they sucked on lemons, and there have been insurance investigators here seeing the big man. Just this morning I heard from a secretary in finance that they had been contacted by the SEC about some improprieties in the internal audits and conflicts of interest in the stock trading. It has caused quite the yelling in the board room. I guess profits are dropping already. You may be on the right track. I happened to be on duty earlier today when a certain conversation being had in one of the conference rooms caught my attention. All of the conference rooms are wired for picture and sound, and since I was the only one there during lunch I decided to tune in. Once I saw who it was I recorded it. I have downloaded it here and think you should take a listen."

It was unsigned, and Sam could see that it came from an anonymous email account that could not be traced. Nothing in the email could be traced to any particular company or any kind of actions. He appreciated that, but the email was dangerous if Tri-Brook started digging in their employee's business, which was inevitable if he kept hacking. He clicked on the link and watched as a video file loaded. What could be so important that his contact would take this kind of chance? The video finished loading and Sam pumped up the volume as the audio kicked in. He sat up straight in his bed as he realized who it was that was on the video, Holbrook and Edmunds.

"...if you can not track these sons of bitches down, what good are you? I am out a lot of money already because of that screw up upstate, and these asses are costing me money every day. They sunk my freaking yacht last week, burned down two of my houses and I know they had to have something to do with my house in North Carolina. And then there is this damn hacker that keeps messing with our systems. My security is useless. What the hell are _you_ doing?" Holbrook was practically yelling.

"They are off the radar. I have my people looking everywhere, but it's like they dropped off the freaking map. It's not like they have any friends that they can be hiding with, everyone they know is dead. But it is only a matter of time. Someone will rat them out. The Winchesters ain't that popular that someone won't turn them in." Edmunds was apologetic.

"Given the amount of money that you've spent on bribes you better get something soon. And this needs to be your last visit here. I have too many people looking at me right now to want them to wander what someone like you is doing hanging out around here."

"What do you mean someone like me?" Edmunds growled. Sam could not help but smile. Evidently there was trouble in paradise.

"What do you think I mean? You're supposed to be the great white hunter. Turns out you can't find your ass with both hands and a flashlight. You're just another raggedy ass nothing hunting things that go bump in the night. You said these guys were legends in the hunting word, but you can't find them, and you let them get away the first time. If you aren't up to the task, let me know and I'll find someone who can do it." Edmunds was about to retort when his phone rang. He answered it while scowling at Holbrook who pretty much ignored him. Sam could not make out Edmunds conversation as he walked away from where the microphone obviously was and had his back turned. Finally he closed his phone and turned to Holbrook with a grin.

"Dean Winchester put out a message through that idiot Fitzgerald. Wants me to meet him at some dive in Iowa, alone, two days from now at 6 pm." Holbrook returned the grin with a nasty twist.

"Well, we'll a have to be sure and make Mr. Winchester welcome won't we? Give me the address and then get on the road. I'll have my people there at the time. When the time comes they'll help you out. Just make sure that he stops doing what he's doing, and make sure that freak brother of his does too. More the better if they are both there and we can take care of them in one fell swoop."

"Dean Winchester isn't dumb, he might expect us to do something like that. As to Sam I did hear that he was recovering from that shot to the gut I gave him. Dean probably wouldn't bring him, but he might bring some others. If he sees anyone suspicious he won't come in at all. "

"On the contrary from everything I've read about him he can't help but go. He's going to get revenge for his brother, damn the danger. You need to learn something about honorable men, Edmunds, they have a code. If he said he'd meet you alone then he'll meet you alone. If they are dumb enough they'll expect you to do exactly what they would do. It is incredibly easy to take everything from an honorable man and they never see it coming. Now give me the address so I can send some men. "

"It's the Dew Drop Inn in St Joseph, but I don't need any other men, I just need these." Edmunds pulled a handful of what Sam recognized as hex bags from his pocket. Why was the man carrying around hex bags? "I place these around the place and suddenly Winchester couldn't fight off a determined first grader and neither can anyone else who isn't carrying one of these." Edmunds pulled a small silver medal out of his pocket. Sam's eyes narrowed.

"It _would_ be best if none of my men were involved overtly. After that crap upstate I had to cover for the men that were killed. It was a pain in the ass. You take care of this and make this go away, all of it, or next time we might have to do something besides your hocus pocus bags."

The two men shared a nod and then left the conference room. The video came to an end.

Sam bit back a curse. "_Damn it Dean. You are about as subtle as a freaking bulldozer_," He thought. He knew that Holbrook was right about Dean being there though. Sam knew his brother well enough to know that he was no easy mark. He would act honorably, but he would not expect it of his opponent, in fact he would expect the opposite, and that meant that Dean had a plan. Sam considered his options.

He could send Dean a text, warning him of Holbrook and Edmunds' plan. Of course he would have to admit what he had been up to then, and Dean would also have to acknowledge what he had been doing. That went against the unspoken brother code.

He could alert Garth and let Garth pass on the warning, under the guise of having gotten a tip from some informant, but then Sam would have to admit what he was doing to Garth. He was reasonably sure that Garth _could_ be discrete, but he was not sure if he _would_ be. He was sure that Dean had roped Garth into the Protect Sammy League, and the hunter might feel that he needed to tell Dean for Sam's own good.

The third option was that Sam go and have Dean's back. He didn't pretend that there was much he could do at this point physically. In a fight he would be more of a liability. In the past he had stood at Dean's back against all comers in some damn nasty bar fights and he would do it again even now if he thought he could provide the protection he normally did. No, if he went that route he would have to do something else. A half formed idea rose in his mind and he reached for the phone. Number three it was.

Chapter 3-

Dean put the finishing touches on his destruction of the apartment. He was really quite proud of what he had accomplished in the last three hours, and it was really quite freeing to just let go. It seemed he had been holding a bit of anger in and he had let it all go here tonight. He was feeling relaxed and happy like he had just spent a couple of hours getting a massage.

His badge and security card had worked like a charm. The rest of the security team at the building had welcomed him and in fact he even got to share in some cake at small birthday party for one of the guys. It wasn't pie, but it was the next best thing. As luck would have it the birthday boy had been assigned to the top three floors, including the penthouse suite that was the reason for Dean being there. Dean had smiled at the guy and said that since he hadn't got to bring a present that he would take the guy's last rounds for him so he could go home early and enjoy the rest of the night. The man had been very grateful and had given Dean his pass card so that he could do the floors and make sure the guy's card showed the access. Everyone heard his offer and Dean didn't figure that the guy would get in any trouble since he had obviously not been involved.

Dean had performed his own duties quickly. Since he was the new guy he had been tasked with patrolling the parking areas, and he did a quick scan through, having a good time with the little golf cart that was there for his use. Then he went up to the top three floors. Protocol held that he start at the top and work down. Instead he did a cursory walk through on the lower two, making sure that he mentioned how he had just finished the top two floors to the cleaning crew that was on the third. He then got in the down elevator and went down to the parking garage. He used his own access card to get back on the Up elevator and used the birthday boy's card to send it to the penthouse floor.

There were two penthouses, and since both were privately held neither were part of the regular patrol. But the common hallway was, and Dean cautiously listened at the door of the second penthouse, and heard no movement. That was good. He hoped that the sound proofing was good in these places. He went to the other door and used the security pass to open the door. The security guys didn't usually enter, but they did have access in case of emergency, or in case caterers or someone had to be allowed in when Holbrook was not in residence with his own people.

Before he entered his eye was caught by the "In case of Emergency" alcove at the end of hall. There was a reel with a fire hose and mounted next to it was an ax. Perfect. He hadn't exactly been able to bring along his tools, so opportunities were appreciated. He helped himself and went inside closing the door behind him. He looked around and whistled silently to himself.

This was what most people thought about when they thought of a luxury apartment. Everything was just so. The carpet felt like he was walking on a cloud it was so thick and well padded. Where there wasn't carpet there was hardwood flooring or marble. The kitchen looked like something from one of those cooking shows….which he didn't watch, but he had caught sight of one or two when he flipped by. Solid wood cabinets, stainless steel top of the line appliances that looked like they had never been used.

There were four bedrooms and a study in addition to a huge master bedroom. Dean would admit to some jealousy about the huge bed, but a quick test showed that this mattress was no better than his own memory foam. Ha! The bathroom was larger than any bathroom that Dean had ever seen, and he was pretty sure that the bathtub was going to figure in a few of his more racy dreams, maybe the one with the naughty cheerleading squad that got lost on their way to a game and they needed to wash their uniforms which were their only clothes.

Once he had looked everything over he stretched his neck and then limbered up his arms a little, then he got started. By the time he was done the place was a mess. Furniture and art mingled on the floor in small pieces, tile was busted out, hardwood was scarred, carpet was ripped and every one of the huge windows was spider webbed. Dean wondered out onto the patio, enjoying the cool breeze after his labors. He found the pool house and did a little more chopping, ruining the expensive ozone filters. The patio furniture was also chopped and deposited in the pool.

All in all he was satisfied with the night's work. Yes, he would rather just get Holbrook alone and beat the living crap out of him, but as an alternative this was not too bad. He was well aware that Holbrook could probably fix all this without too much pain, but it still had to be annoying. Dean would settle for that until Garth could find him an opportunity.

He left the building after dropping off the birthday boy's card in the security center. He gave a jaunty wave to the cameras on his way out of the building, knowing that it would be seen eventually hopefully by Holbrook himself. It was the early hours of the day that he was supposed to meet Edmunds, and he had about six hours driving time to get there. He was still feeling pretty awake so he decided to just head out rather than sleep.

He was in Iowa and approaching the small town of Saint Josephs just after 8 AM. He had been here before a couple of times. He had come through first with his father almost 10 years ago. Sam had been at Stanford and John and Dean had been hunting both alone and together. Dean had met his father at one of the bars here in town after doing a hunt on his own down in Florida. John had a lead on a water sprite at a lake about 100 miles north west. It needed two hunters to work the plan to get it. Dean had been slightly let down to know that if it hadn't been for that fact that John would have just taken care of it himself and Dean would have still been hunting alone, but he had been willing to take what he could get of the family that he had.

The second time he had been back alone, almost a year later. Little knowing that three months more and he would be out in California getting his brother to look for their father who had gone missing. He had spent a little time in the town, but this time he had spent it at the Dew Drop Inn. The owner of the bar was a very, very nice looking young lady by the name of Delphi Jones. She and Dean had hit it off right away. He was passing through, and she didn't expect anything else.

He had come back a third time almost five years ago when he and Sam had come into town for a hunt. A witch had set up shop in an old farm on the outskirts of town and was taking out her anger on those she felt had slighted her. Delphi Jones had been one of the first victims. Her husband and their young son had barely escaped with their lives. The original Dew Drop Inn had burned to the ground with Delphi in it. Sam and Dean had dealt with the witch, and had given Delphi's husband and son the peace that they needed. Her husband, Bart, had planned to rebuild the bar, and Dean had kind of kept track of the progress. He knew it had been completed a couple of years ago, and had decided to use it as a meeting place.

He didn't expect anything from Bart in return for the help Sam and he had given him. What he needed was a venue that he could control. One of the things the Dew Drop Inn had unlike many bars was a party room. Bart made extra money renting it out for banquets, business meetings, etc. It was a large open space, and there would be no hiding friends in the crowd like you could in a bar setting. Let Edmunds bring whoever he wanted to, but once he was inside the building he would have to go into the banquet room and he would have to come alone.

Dean was pretty sure that with an assurance of payment for any damages he could convince Bart to allow him use of the room and maybe even get him to make sure that he and Edmunds were not disturbed. Dean wanted to get this over with, but he wasn't stupid, and he was not going to chance the other hunter, who he already knew was a coward, bringing friends in on the fight. He really thought this was the best scenario he could hope for. He needed to end this whole thing soon, Sam would need his support for the final trial, and he couldn't be distracted with this crap.

He pulled over to a small diner that looked like it might have some good food. He got a booth by using his best grin at the waitress and as he waited for his order he pulled out his phone. He hadn't checked in with Sam since he had gone into 'work' the night before, and he was a bit anxious about leaving his brother alone for so long. He figured that Sam was living on soup and juice, and little more. He punched the quick dial button, smiling at the waitress as she dropped off his coffee. He listened to the phone ring and frowned as it continued to ring. He was about to try redialing when it was picked-up.

"Dean." Sam answered, out of breath. Dean was instantly on point, unconsciously pulling himself up from his slouch and looking like he was ready to bolt from the place if he needed to get to his brother.

"Sammy what took you so long to answer, and why are you breathing hard?" Dean snapped, wanting answers immediately.

"Dean, calm down. I just...left my phone in the library and when it rang I was in the kitchen. It's kind of a haul between the two and well...you know." Dean examined that statement for hidden meanings, but decided to take it at face value. In Sam's current condition it _was_ kind of a long walk across the facility to get the phone, but that raised another question.

"You know you promised to keep your phone with you at all times Sammy. Do I gotta get out the duct tape?" Dean threatened. It had been one of the conditions of his vacating the place for a while. Sam was supposed to always have his phone nearby. Dean had even considered one of those 'help I've fallen and I can't get up' deals, but when Sam threatened to put the thing where the sun didn't shine if one showed up he had abandoned that idea. He was worried if Sam fell and hurt himself that he would have no way to contact Dean.

Suddenly over the phone Dean heard what could only be a public address system announcing a bus leaving at gate 13, followed by Sam's curse. The little shit was not at the facility, he was in some bus station somewhere going….where and why? Dean's hand tightened on his phone, ignoring the sound of the plastic creaking, and not even seeing how the waitress, who had been coming over to freshen his coffee and maybe flirt a little, stopped in her tracks and retreated with wide eyes. When he spoke his voice was low and cool.

"Where you going, Sammy?" He decided to ignore the lying; he hadn't exactly been up front about what he was doing either. Sam was an adult and could go where he wanted to when he wanted to, but he needed to let Dean _know_.

"Where do you think I'm going, Dean?" Came Sam's equally cool and even question. At least he hadn't denied it.

"I don't know, Bitch. You're supposed to be recovering, not gallivanting around on some bus. You have a sudden urge to go get your nails done?" He said sarcastically.

"No more so than you, Jerk. Maybe you had an urge to get an authentic deep dish pizza? How was Chicago, enjoy the view of the skyline?" Sam replied in the same way. In the back ground Dean could tell that Sam was moving buy the way the sounds changed, he could also hear his weakening brother panting a little as he walked. The tone of the back ground noise changed, like there were echoes and he thought he heard someone say something about putting luggage on the line. Sam was getting on the bus.

He wondered how Sam had known he was in Chicago. They had turned off their GPS once they realized that Garth was tracking them, so he was pretty sure it wasn't that. He supposed Garth could have given him up, but why would the little hunter have done so? If Sam had called and asked about Dean then if Garth was giving up anything it would have been Iowa. That meant that Sam had his intel from somewhere else. Sneaky little bitch.

Dean was beginning to suspect that maybe his little brother had been doing a little something on the side beside his research. That all that computer time wasn't just on supernatural web sites. He knew that while Sam might be the intellectual of the family, he still had a full portion of Winchester pride, stubbornness and general cussedness as Bobby had put it. Sam had been the injured party in all of this, and while Dean saw it as _his_ duty as big brother to exact vengeance, Sam may have had other ideas. Of course he couldn't get out there and whip any asses, not in the shape he was in now, but as Dean thought about it, that had never been a stumbling block for his little brother, even when he _was_ little. He remembered one time in particular…

_Sam was seven and Dean was eleven. Sam had been small and chubby, a little geek kid with badly fitting clothes and an itinerant family that made him the only new kid just about everywhere they went. The fact that he was smart as a whip and not afraid to show it didn't endear him to many bullies. For the most part Dean took care of any that dared to mess with his little brother, usually not too hard since they were in the same school. But that time in some podunk town in Arizona had been the first time that they had been in separate schools. Sam was in the elementary school and Dean was all the way across town at the junior high school. They didn't even get to take the same bus to school, and that was where the problem began. _

_It had been a few days after they got to town that the bullying had started though Dean didn't find out till almost a week later when the physical abuse started. No, to begin with it was name calling, some pushing and lunch theft, though after they realized that Sam's lunch was a peanut butter sandwich and nothing else they stopped that. Sammy, the kid who could not shut up about much of anything once you got him started didn't say a word about it. A week after it started though he met Dean at the bus stop with his second hand pants ripped all down one thigh and with a black eye and a swollen bruise on his cheekbone. His long hair was all tangled and dirty. _

_Dean had taken one look and had almost had a coronary. He had raged around, demanding that Sam tell him who had done it and why and where he could find them. Sam had withstood the tirade and had simply stood there, lower lip quivering, and big wet puppy dog eyes watching Dean. Finally Dan had wound down and he had led Sam back to the motel and over to their bed and had washed off his face. Examining his leg he could see that whatever had torn the pants had only caught the thigh beneath lightly, leaving a long shallow scratch. He had put some antibiotic ointment on it and then had sat down and put his arm around his brother. Sam had leaned gratefully into his side and had let the tears flow. _

_With low kind words Dean had managed to get the whole story out of Sam. It seemed that the local bully, a fifth grader, had taken exception to Sam's presence in the seat that he considered his on the bus. Sam, not knowing that the seat was 'reserved' had simply sat in what he though was an open seat. He had offered to move when the bully had informed him of his transgression. But that was not enough for the bully. The verbal and mental abuse had continued every day from then on and continued at school during recess if the bully should happen to run into Sam during recess or lunch. _

_Sam had lost his lunch four times and had been pushed and shoved and generally made miserable. None of the other kids his age would play with him since he was on the bully's bad side so his days were long and lonely with only a painful bus ride to look forward to. The day that Dean found out had been the worst. Sam had gotten the shiner on the playground. He had gotten pushed off the monkey bars hitting his eye on the way down. Since no one would point out the bully for pushing Sam he had told the teacher that he had slipped. That had been at pre-lunch recess. Of course his lunch had been heisted again when he tried to eat, and with no money to buy lunch that meant the kid had been without food that day. On the way home it had been much the same. Finally the bully, whose bus stop was one before Sam's, decided he needed some uninterrupted time with his newest victim. He had managed to frog march Sam off the bus without any protest from the bus driver, and once the bus left he had started dragging Sam toward some trees. Sam, knowing that whatever was going to happen would not be good had decided that he needed to fight back. _

_The kid had kicked the bully in the knee, the unexpected move taking the bully down, and causing him to loose his hold on Sam's collar. However they had been walking along the edge of a small cliff and when the bully went down Sam had ended up rolling off the edge of the drop. Sam had fallen about ten feet then rolled down the rest of the way. That was where he picked up the other bruise on his face and tore his pants. When he landed the bully had been yelling at him from the top of the hill, but Sam had ignored him and headed for home, arriving at the bus stop not long before Dean's bus dropped him off. _

_The next day Dean had cut school and had walked his little brother to school. He had then found himself a comfortable place out on the edge of the playground where he could not be seen. He had told Sammy to meet him near a particular big tree at recess and when the bell rang he was there to watch as his little brother scampered toward him with a big smile. The smile dropped away as a boy who was easily Dean's size stepped in his path. Sam stopped and glared at the boy and Dean knew this was the bully that had been causing the trouble. At least he didn't seem to have a group with him like a lot of bullies did. As the kid was reaching for Sam Dean approached from behind and kicked his knee forward. _

_That was the first blow in the epic, at least that was how Sam described it, fight. Dean let the bully have it with every bit of training that John had given him, and he was handily whipping the guy's ass when he heard Sam's reedy voice call out._

"_Teachers comin', Dean!" Dean really didn't care, since he wasn't a student here, but he guessed he could get in trouble at his own school for cutting, and if they tied to call their father they would find out he was out of town, not a good thing, and so he disengaged with one last hit to the face and with a wink to Sammy who was grinning like an idiot, slipped through the ring of kids that had formed around them and did a disappearing act into the woods. He had watched from there as after a lot of talking Sam and the bully were both led off toward the school and the other kids went back to recess._

_He knew that Sam would not rat him out, and the other kids had no idea who he was to Sam, so he was confident that he was in the clear. He had headed back to the motel they were staying at to watch a little daytime TV, and maybe if he played with it just right he could tweak the pay-per-view box to allow some unscrambled viewing. Dad hadn't said he _couldn't _watch, just that he didn't want any charges on the room since their credit card was a little tight._

_Sam had returned that afternoon on the bus, and from the brilliant smile that he threw at Dean who met him there he had been unmolested on the way. Dean had to sit through a blow by blow recount of his fight, and would admit that he kinda liked the hero worship that he heard in his little brother's voice. The next couple of days he had kept an eye on Sam, knowing that sometimes an exceptionally thick bully might make another run on a victim even when it was obvious that it was not in their best interest, but then bullies were not the smartest tools in the shed. But Sam seemed to be doing all right. _

_Dean had assumed that his beat down of the bully had been enough for Sam but found out a week later that it was not so. Evidently his smart little brother had seen an opportunity and had seized it. He would never have known about it at all if he hadn't overheard a conversation in his own cafeteria that almost made him snort his peanut butter sandwich through his nose. The speaker had been a girl in his own class, a very nice looking blond that he had been eyeing for the last week, who had a sister at the elementary school, in fifth grade. Evidently her sister was kinda plain and wore thick glasses. The poor kid had just gotten braces in the last month and had been the victim of, big surprise, a bully in her class tormenting her almost constantly, sending her home in tears for weeks on end. It had only ended when the bully found another victim, Sam. _

_He listened with interest as the girl told her friends about how the bully at her sisters school had been first beaten up by some mystery kid, and then completely humiliated by being chosen as the 'Teachers Assistant of the Month'. The elementary school had a program that allowed students who were interested to submit their names to be the one that read the announcements each morning. Then they got to help out in the office at recess and during lunch and they helped out the principal with school assembly. The participants were almost exclusively girls in the lower grades, and geeky girls at that. Being the first of the month the principle had drawn the name out of the box where students who were interested in the program submitted their names, and it had been the bully's name called. The principal had announced the happy election over the loud speaker and had called the new assistant to the office to perform his first day's announcement reading. The principal had evidently been quite vocal over his pleasure that an older student had shown an interest in the program, fondly remembering his own time as a child helping out. The kid had had no opportunity to protest and was soon reading, badly, the announcements. He had to spend his recess and most of his lunch in the office, collating papers and licking envelopes, and would have to do so for the next month. The rest of the school had practically died laughing. _

_Dean had pondered this happening throughout the rest of the day, ignoring his math teacher and letting it run through his head as he pounded around the track in P.E. There was no chance in a million years that the bully had put his own name in the box. There was also the question of how out of what was no doubt many geeky little volunteers his name had been chosen. Dean suspected that he knew exactly who to ask about that. _

_That afternoon when he got off the bus Sam was waiting at the stop as he was supposed to since their buses were usually about 10 minutes apart. He had smiled at Dean when he got off the bus, the black eye now a rainbow of colors and the swelling on his cheekbone was starting to go down. His brother's hazel eyes were sparkling with something, and Dean was pretty sure he knew what it was. He had grabbed his brother in a head lock and gave him a nuggie, messing up his long hair. Sam had protested and then challenged Dean to a race back to the motel. Dean carefully lost by just a hair._

_When they had gotten inside and Sam had told Dean about his day in the usual minute detail, however Dean noted that he said nothing about the bully's little problem. He had let the kid start his homework, and gave his own a cursory going over. Later as they sat down over a bowl of Spagettios Dean asked the question._

"_What did you do Sam, to the bully?" Sam had looked up at him from under his bangs with a mischievous smile._

"_How did you find out?" he asked. Dean shrugged._

"_I'm an older brother, I _always_ find out." He said. That was a handy deterrent, might as well enforce that lesson now. He motioned for the now grinning Sam to spill._

"_You know when the teacher made me go to the office, after the fight?" Dean nodded. Sam had not said much about that. Dean had just assumed that Sam had just said that he didn't know who it was that had beaten up the bully and that was that, after all they couldn't prove different. "Well they talked to him first, but his nose got to bleeding so bad they had to stop and take him to the nurse so I hadda sit in the office for almost twenty minutes. There wasn't no one but me there and I didn't have a book or anything so I didn't have nothin' to do. The box for the Assistant of the Month was right there on the counter along with the pieces of paper that you put your name on, and I got to thinkin' if I was a bully, what would be the worst possible thing that could happen to me, other than runnin' into you again." Sam said the last with another grin. Dean toasted him with his glass of water._

"_Damn bet ya, Sammy." Dean affirmed. Dean liked that his brother though of him as the ultimate punishment for bad guys. He _was_ eleven after all._

"_Anyways, I thought, what if he was to have to be the Assistant? That would be pretty funny, and everyone would laugh at him. So I took a paper and wrote his name on it and put it in the box. But then I got to thinkin' what if they don't pull his name out? So I opened up the box and took all of the names out but his and put in about thirty with his name on it. I tried to write like I seen you write, with the swoopy letters and all, like you showed me how and put his name so it would look like he did it. Then I put the others in my pack and threw them out on my way back to class after I talked to the principal." Sam stopped and bit his lip. "Do you think I did bad, Dean?"_

_Dean had stood up and moved around till he was standing next to his little brother. He put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. "You didn't do bad at all Sammy, in fact that is about the smartest thing I ever heard. In fact I think it's so smart that we __**have**__ to go out and get some ice cream, just to celebrate how brainy my little brother is." _

_The smile on Sam's face had been incandescent, and they had both enjoyed the hot fudge sundae that Dean had used the last of his hard earned pocket change to get at the nearby ice cream parlor. _

Dean blinked as the memory swept through him. That had been so long ago, but his little brother was essentially the same. Neither of them had really changed all that much. He felt the tension flowing out of his shoulders.

"So, how far out are you?" He asked. The waitress appeared at the table with his plate of food, a slightly strange look on her face, but he was not paying too much attention, as he tried to hear what Sam was saying. He threw her a grin though, and he saw that whatever had spooked her seemed to be fading away.

"The schedule says 8 hours. I missed the express by half an hour." Sam said with a sigh. "Cutting it a little closer than I planned." Dean smiled. Well that confirmed that Sam knew about the meeting at six. He stabbed at some eggs and potatoes, and took a big bite, making sure that the sounds transmitted over his phone. His actions were rewarded with, "Oh gross, what are you chewing, a cud?"

"Only the finest breakfast for me, Sammy, I save the grass and green stuff for you." he retorted. "Did you bother to eat anything this morning?" He tried some mental math trying to figure out where Sam was and how long ago he was at the facility and its supply of easily edible food. He was not happy with the numbers he got. Sam sighed again.

"I had some toast and a bowl of oatmeal." He reported. Dean bobbled his head. Well it wasn't much, but it was better than nothing.

"I'll meet you at the station. We'll do some dinner. This place looks like it does a good soup and sandwich. I guess we have a little talking to do."

"Yeah, maybe a little." Sam conceded not commenting about the dinner plans. "I'm gonna get some sleep on the way." Dean nodded his approval despite the fact Sam couldn't see it.

"Yeah, I gotta make a few contacts, but then I'm gonna get a place and sack out for a few hours. I'll see you soon Sammy." He hung up and looked up as the waitress leaned over the table to refill his coffee cup, giving him a rather extensive view of her assets. She winked at him when he finally managed to raise his eyes to hers.

"I get off in an hour." She whispered with a sultry smile. He smiled back. That should be about right.

Chapter 4-

Sam stretched his legs down the aisle of the bus. He had taken the back seat of the mostly empty bus so that he could do so with out blocking anyone's way. The idea of being stuffed in the smaller seats further up had been weighed against the faint nausea induced by being in the back of the bus, but in the end comfort had decided his placement. He had managed to get a few hours of sleep on and off as the bus had made its way toward Saint Joseph and Dean. He was feeling if not good, then at least passable after his nap.

Sam had known the jig was up regarding his little jaunt as soon as the announcement had been made about the bus leaving. He had been about five feet away from the speaker and there was no way he could pass that off as the TV.

Dean had taken it pretty well, though they had kept up the pretense of not talking about it in so many words. It was silly he knew, but you just didn't tell your brother how much it meant to you that he cared enough to commit felony trespassing and destruction of property, and planned to commit battery. He had only seen the email dispatch to Holbrook's office from the security company that had been sent at 6:00 am this morning, so he didn't know exactly what had been done to Holbrook's penthouse apartment, but given the terse wording of the email he suspected it was rather extensive.

He had been following Dean's path of destruction through various emails from and to Holbrook from various people. He knew that Dean had help on the three other houses, he obviously hadn't been gone long enough to have been to any of them, but Dean had his own type of network, and Sam knew that favors were accumulated and exchanged regularly on it. He had a listing of Holbrook's personal holdings that he assumed Garth had gotten as well and passed on to Dean. He had watched in some amusement as those properties had literally started going up in flames. He had told Holbrook that Dean would burn his ass down, and it seemed that he had been correct. The boat he was almost certain was Dean's personal work. He had thought it was a master stroke to add in the insurance fraud angle. He had helped that along a bit by sending some reports that he had found in the corporate computers.

He was glad that Dean had not demanded that he return to the facility and sit this whole thing out. He knew that Dean was well aware of his limitations, and he was aware that he would not be allowed to exceed those limits no matter what Dean's reaction would be to his news about Edmunds and his hex bags. He saw a city limits sign coming up on the right and he was happy to see that they had finally made it to Saint Joseph. He looked at his watch. It was just slightly earlier than he had told Dean, and he wondered if his brother would be there waiting. Knowing how much of a mother hen his brother had been lately Sam figured that Dean was already there.

His suspicions were confirmed as he caught sight of the Impala parked on the street as the bus pulled into the station. He found himself anxious to see his brother again even though it had only been a matter of days since Dean had left the facility. They had spent little time apart since Dean had returned from purgatory, and since their relationship seemed to be finally returning to what it had been so long ago, maybe so long ago as before Sam left for Stanford. He just wished that there was some way that he could make it all up to Dean. He felt he was finally making up for the other things, but there was not really anything he could do to make up for the pain he had caused his brother, for the times he had let him down. That was one of the reasons he felt kind of bad about virtually tossing Dean out of the facility. If it made Dean feel better to mother hen him, then Sam just needed to suck it up and accept it. Truth be told, it was not that great a burden, it felt good to be protected, even if it was occasionally suffocating.

As the bus pulled to a halt he grabbed his duffel and made his way out of the bus. He was slightly ashamed at how much he had to use the rail on the steps to avoid falling down the stairs as his knees decided to choose that particular moment to fail him, but he made it. The twenty year old punk behind him practically knocked him over at the bottom as he pushed his way out, and Sam was grateful for the strong hand that grabbed his arm and helped him get his balance. He would know that hand anywhere. He smiled at Dean who after a scowl in the direction of the punk, smiled back with his usual smirk.

"Have a nice ride, Samantha?" He asked. To Dean riding in anything but the Impala was a step down. And buses where for pussies who couldn't even get a bad car. Sam had considered hot wiring a car, but given his issues he had decided to leave the driving to the bus line. He intentionally bumped into Dean with his shoulder as he headed toward the exit.

"It was great. The driver knew what he was doing and I could listen to whatever music I liked." He said showing Dean the Ipod he held in his hand. Dean scoffed.

"That's not driving, Sammy, that's just steering, and a monkey could do that with a little training, and that emo crap you listen to is not music." He grabbed Sam's duffel, and after a token tug of war Sam let him take it.

"I'm sure professional bus drivers appreciate your distinction, Dean, and I notice that you were singing along to Radiohead's _Creep_ when we went to the grocery store last week." Dean shoved his duffel in the back seat and slammed the door. He pointed over the top of the Impala at Sam.

"If there was ever a song that was meant for you it's that one Sam. It's like your anthem, I was offering my support." Sam rolled his eyes and got in when Dean unlocked the door. Dean steered the car to a diner that was near the edge of town and they went in and got a booth. Sam would admit to a little bit of appetite and he looked over the menu. He decided on the soup and sandwich and tried to ignore Dean's nod of approval as he placed his order. Finally they were alone in the booth and they sat there staring at each other for several seconds. Dean was playing with his fork, and Sam found himself tearing up his napkin. Finally he broke, and he knew that Dean had counted on that.

"All right, I know what you are doing to Holbrook because I've been hacking his computer system and basically screwing with anything I can. I've been reading his emails and he's talked about how he's going to nail your ass for destroying his vacation houses and his yacht." He didn't add any of the insults that Holbrook had written about Sam and Dean, there didn't need to be any more fuel added to that particular fire. It wasn't like he hadn't been called a freak before. Dean was nodding, draping himself casually over the booth seat.

"Yeah well you knew what I was doing, seems I can't say the same." Sam couldn't tell if Dean was upset with him for taking some initiative on this or if he was put out about not being included once Sam found out about his Dean's activities.

"It wasn't like I really planned to do much when I first hacked his systems. It just sort of snowballed, and the opportunity was there so I sort of seized the moment." Sam confessed, though he didn't intend to mention about the information he had sent on to certain agencies. He really had told himself that he didn't need to get revenge, but the temptation had been there. But he was glad to see that Dean was nodding and smirking.

"Yeah, you couldn't let it go when you were seven years old, don't know why I would expect you to do it now." Dean drawled. Sam frowned at him for a moment, then that weird recall that he had been having kicked in. He remembered like it was yesterday the bullying at the little school in Arizona. He could recall all the names of the students he went to class with, the bully, the teachers and the principal. He could remember a young Dean, his big brother in fact and not just by birth order, stepping in front of him when the bully meant to give him a smack down. He remembered Dean's fierce protectiveness and the wild grin that he had given him as he had slipped into the woods after giving the bully the beating of his life. He also remembered seeing the box in the office as he waited for his interview with the principal, and the plan that hatched in his head. He also remembered guiltily the extreme pleasure he had taken in the bully's humiliation. The value of humiliating bullies had been something he had remembered years later when in a similar situation, of course that hadn't turned out all that well when he thought about it, coming back to bite him in the ass in the end. He sighed.

"Yeah well, you raised me." He pointed out petulantly. Dean grinned again. Talk stopped as their order arrived and Sam applied himself to his soup. He ate most of the soup and half the sandwich which seemed to satisfy Dean, who was finished and having some pie by the time Sam put down his spoon.

"How'd you find out about this," Dean waved his hand around indicating the town in general, "Garth rat me out?" Sam shook his head.

"I have a contact in the New York headquarters. He happened on a conversation between Holbrook and Edmunds and sent me a link to the recording. Edmunds is planning on using some hex bags on you. He showed them to Holbrook. He had a medal that prevents him from being affected." Dean huffed.

"Well that's one I didn't think of. I figured he's show up with a bunch of goons, made plans to handle that."

"Holbrook offered to send some men. To have them there before Edmunds went in, but Edmunds was so sure that he turned him down and told him about the hex bags. I figured you could handle extra people, but you wouldn't be expecting the curse." Sam explained his rational for coming. He hoped that Dean didn't think that Sam thought he couldn't handle it, just that he could not leave it alone. But Dean was nodding.

"Would have been a problem, Sammy. That's why we make a good team." Sam couldn't help the big doofie grin that he gave his brother when he said that. He had always loved Dean's approval, and being part of Dean's team, and he suspected that no matter how old he got that would always be the case. Dean just rolled his eyes at him.

"You have a plan in that geeky brain of yours, Sammy?" Sam pulled his laptop out of the bag that he carried with him, and no it was _not_ a purse not matter what Dean said. He opened it and logged on to the diners WiFi. He brought up the page he had researched and turned it around to show Dean.

"The resolution was high enough on the recording that I was sent to make out the medal that Edmunds showed Holbrook. It's a St Patrick medal."

"I'm gonna be done in by an Irish curse? Didn't they do druidism or something?"

"Well first off St Patrick wasn't Irish he was English, but what he also is is connected to Dumballah in the voodoo religion."

"Voodoo curse?" Dean asked with a frown. Sam knew that Dean had some bad experiences with voodoo, experiences that he still would not talk about all these years later. He nodded. He twirled his laptop around and punched up another page and turned it back for Dean to read.

"It's a common curse in the Petra voodoo, the black magic type. It completely debilitates anyone in the place, they can't do anything but breathe. It's like being hit with tetrodotoxin like they use for making the fake zombies. Edmunds would be able to beat you to a pulp and you wouldn't be able to lift a finger, but you would feel every bit of it." Dean's face darkened as he read and Sam understood why.

Holbrook had been right about Dean. He was an honorable man, and he had been ready to meet Edmunds on an even basis, with no advantage on either side. He had even accepted that Edmunds would probably cheat and had made plans about that too, but had still planned on a fair fight. To find out the Edmunds had planned something like this was just wrong. Dean slammed the lid of the laptop.

"So you know how to counter this thing, without burning the hex bags?" he asked. Sam nodded.

"We just need a couple more medals and a few herbs from the trunk and I can do the counter spell." He pulled two medals out of his pocket, holding them in his palm.

"What about anyone else in the bar. Will it hurt them?" Sam shook his head.

"No, in fact they won't even remember it much beyond a sort of daze."

"So it's like roofieing a whole bar?" Sam rolled his eyes at Dean's description. Dean smirked at him again and slid out of the booth, reaching for his wallet and the check. "I got a motel room down the block. Let's get this done. I want to be there when the asshole walks in."

Chapter 5-

Dean spun the St Patrick metal along his knuckles, making it jump from knuckle to knuckle like a coin. He had learned the trick years ago as an amusement and a way to keep his fingers dexterous. He wasn't so much nervous as anxious to get this over. As well as Sam was doing he still looked tired, and Dean wanted to get him back to the facility and to some rest that did not include being bounced around in the back of a bus. He had banned Sam from coming into the bar, wanting to be sure that he didn't have to worry about Sam getting involved.

He looked around the bar, happy to see that as Bart had said it would be it was slow night. Only four people were in the bar, two at the bar itself and two at a booth. There was one bartender and one waitress. The kitchen was closed on Tuesday's so there was no one else to worry about. Dean would have rather had the place to himself, but he knew that Edmunds would be suspicious about that, and Dean did not want to scare him off.

Dean had carefully selected his seat. He was at a small table that was right next to the small banquet room where he planned to have this little meeting. He was sipping at his beer when his phone vibrated twice then stopped. That was the signal. Almost as soon as the vibration stopped the rest of the patrons slumped. The people at the bar were lying against it like they were passed out as were the two at the booth. The waitress was on the floor next to the bar and he could not see the bartender. Damn that curse was fast.

He draped himself over the table as if he had simply passed out, tipping his beer for a little authenticity. The door opened and Edmunds walked in like a peacock, sure and grinning like the ass he was. Dean had made sure he was facing that way. Sammy had said he could blink, but he was careful not to move any other body part.

Dean allowed Edmunds to look around at the other patrons and then walk over to Dean's position. It was hard not to jump up and simply punch the other hunter in the face, but he suppressed the urge. When Edmunds grabbed his shoulder and sat him up he kept himself as limp as possible and stifled a curse as Edmunds stuffed his ugly mug in his face and sneered.

"Not such a big man now, huh, Winchester? You and that freak of a brother of yours ain't so much. Just like that bastard of a father of yours." He said with a nasty laugh. Looked like Dean had been right about John taking his revenge all those years ago. He kicked Dean's chair out from under him and he allowed himself to fall to the ground in what should appear a random manner, but instead lined him up for exactly what he wanted to do. As Edmunds moved in with the obvious intention to kick Dean's ribs in Dean exploded into action. He was up and had his shoulder buried in Edmunds midsection before the man could even move.

The two men careened through the swinging doors into the empty banquet room. The room was floored with polished hardwood and when Edmunds went down, with Dean on top, they slid across the floor for almost ten feet before they stopped. As the momentum faded Dean rose up and started swinging, pounding blow after blow into Edmunds' face.

Edmunds finally managed to shake of his surprise and started fighting back. He kicked Dean off and back, and stumbled to his feet as Dean got to his. They started circling each other, looking for openings, Edmunds was bleeding from his mouth and he wiped the dripping blood with the back of his hand as he glared at Dean. He faked a charge but Dean read it easily and didn't so much as flinch. He fished the medal out of his pocket and waved it at Edmunds.

"Wondering about your little curse, you cowardly ass?" He asked "Just a matter of knowing the right people, in this case my little brother." He slipped the coin back in to his pocket just as Edmunds rushed him they grappled again, exchanging blows. Dean absorbed the blows easily. They weren't anything more than Sam did to him during their sparring. Edmunds obviously had some training, probably military, but it had also obviously been a long time since he had been forced to use it. His blows were sloppily timed and he didn't use his body right to get the most behind them. Dean did not make either error. John Winchester had been a strict teacher, and sparring with Sam for the last several years had tuned Dean's body into a fighting machine. They broke apart again, and Edmunds was panting heavily. Dean raised an eyebrow and taunted the man.

"You tired? You want to take five and get a drink of water, sit down for awhile? I can wait. I rented the room all night." Edmunds cursed at him and spit on the floor.

'You always fight your brother's battles for him Winchester? He such a wimp that he can't do his own fighting?'

"Are you seriously making fun of my brother's manhood to make me mad? Are you twelve?" Dean asked with a laugh. "I don't care if Sam still wants to kick your ass after I'm done or not, that's up to him. I'm doing this for _me_, not for him. You _took_ my brother, you _put _him in a _cage_, and you _shot_ him. That's why _I'm _here. You call yourself a hunter and you take some prick's money, you give us all a bad name."

Edmunds screamed and rushed Dean again, this time Dean spun and planted a booted foot in the man's guts. Edmunds curled into a ball on the blood splattered floor. Dean wondered around him in a circle, staying far enough back to keep from being grabbed. He was not all that surprised when Edmunds came up with a knife in his hand. He reached behind his back and pulled his own knife and readied himself.

"If I had known that you wanted to play with knives I would have let Sammy come in," He said as they circled each other yet again. "Even feeling as bad as he does he could take you in a knife fight. At his most picky dad could never find anything wrong with Sammy's knife fighting." Edmunds made a swipe at Dean's throat at the same time as he croaked out an insult about John. So that was how it was going to be, huh. Evidently Edmunds had no compunction about killing humans. Dean mentally shrugged. So be it.

He parried a few more blows, not making any offensive moves of his own. He could see that Edmunds was getting frustrated, and he waited for it to come to a boil. It didn't take long, and the other man came in with his stance unbalanced and the knife in the wrong place. Dean disarmed him easily and with a move that John would have appreciated he dragged the man's arm across his shoulder and broke it at the elbow. The sound of the arm breaking was loud in the empty room, as was the accompanying scream. Edmunds dropped to the floor, clutching his arm. Dean leaned over him and put a boot against the arm, pushing just enough to make sure he had Edmunds full attention.

"You ever come within a hundred feet of my brother again and I will break the other one _and_ both your legs. You need to think about another line of work, and in another country. I don't care if it's Canada, Mexico, hell, go to Europe and chase ghosts, but you get out of the States, they belong to Sammy and me. You try to contact Holbrook again and I'll break every finger along with the rest, and don't think I won't know. Now drag your cowardly ass out of here and haul it."

Edmunds dragged himself up with a badly covered sob of pain and Dean let him stumble toward the doors before he followed. H wanted to make sure that the bastard didn't try to hurt anyone out there just on principle. But Edmunds seemed to only be focused on his own pain and getting out of there. He stumbled across the bar and out the door. Dean moved along behind him and as he stepped out the door into the poorly lit parking area Sam materialized out of a shadow nearby and put a hand on his chest to stop him from going further.

Dean took his eyes off Edmunds who was stumbling toward where the cars, including the Impala were parked. A late model sedan that probably belonged to the hunter was parked next to his baby, backed in for a quick get away evidently. If the ass tried to scratch his car he'd break a few more bones just for the fun of it. He looked at Sam, but Sam was not looking at him, instead he was scanning the dark buildings that lined the other side of the road and the open field was on the other side of the bar.

"What…?" he started to ask when what could only be a suppressed rifle shot rang through the quiet night. Even as he was ducking down behind a huge concrete planter, dragging Sam with him, Dean saw Edmunds jerk and fall not far from the front bumper of his car. Dean started to rise up, intending to use cover to get out to the man, but Sam dragged him down and hissed at him.

"Dean!" He saw that Sam was pointing back toward the front of the building which was directly behind them and Dean saw what Sam had seen, the red dot of a laser sight was moving across the doorway, as if looking for another target. In the distance Dean heard a siren and the red dot disappeared. Sam moved, and Dean grabbed his jacket to make sure that Sam was not moving out of the protection of the planter. Just because they couldn't see the dot didn't mean the guy was not still there. Sam wasn't trying to get up though. He was pulling what Dean could see in the dim light was a hex bag out of his pocket along with his lighter. As Dean watched Sam set fire to the bag and let it fall to the pavement where it burned quickly to ash.

Dean got Sam's attention and pointed back into the bar. They needed to get everyone back up and conscious before the cops got here, that and get the back room cleaned up. Sam nodded and lunged through the door, making himself as small a target as possible for one his size. Dean followed in the same manner. Looking around he could see that they would not have to do much about the people as they were already stirring. One guy at the bar was already drinking more of his beer.

Sam had gone straight to the banquet room with some towels that he scooped from behind the bar as he helped the bartender up from the floor, congratulating him about how he hadn't hurt himself when he tripped. Dean helped the waitress up, apologizing for bumping into her and then going to his table and righting the chair. He used some napkins from the dispenser to clean up the beer he had spilled went in to see if Sam needed any help. The sirens were getting closer. Most of the blood had been in one general area, and Sam had most of it wiped up already. As they heard the police cars coming into the parking area Dean grabbed all of the bloody towels and stuffed them down inside the nearest trash can under the black liner. He looked around the room. It looked fine.

There was a big mirror on the wall and Dean could see that he was a little rumpled and his shirt was torn from where Edmunds had gotten close with his knife. Most of Edmunds blows had been to the body instead of the face, and so Dean looked as stunningly handsome as ever. Sam caught him grinning at himself and rolled his eyes.

He and Sam went back out into the bar and slid into a booth just as the front door opened and two policemen came in, hands on their guns. Everyone looked their way and Dean reached over and picked up two glasses on a table that had not been bussed, dropping one in front of Sam who pulled a few napkins out and crumpled them up.

There followed several minutes of questioning as the police revealed that a man had been shot in the parking area. Everyone in the bar had declared that they had not heard a thing, and that no one had left the bar in the last few minutes, and no one had come in. Dean was glad that no one had seemed to notice Sam's appearance. It was funny that as big as Sam was he could blend in when necessary. The police took a statement from everyone, and after taking a picture of Edmunds had asked if anyone had ever seen him. No one in the bar had seen him, and of course Sam and Dean were experienced with lying to the police, so the cops figured that Edmunds had been coming into the bar instead of leaving it.

Dean managed to do some subtle eavesdropping on the detectives who had come in to take over the investigation, and they were thinking that since Edmunds had obviously not been in the bar, and that he had been beat up that perhaps he had been running from someone and had been trying to reach the bar for help when he was shot. They didn't know about the silenced rifle yet, but they would find out, and Dean knew that would puzzle them even further. Not that he really cared since he and Sam would be long gone by then.

Once they were released by the police, after giving their motel room info and a fake address for 'home', they returned to the motel. Sam plopped down on his bed with a sigh, closing his eyes. Sam had been very quiet since they left the bar, and Dean knew his brother was tired. He hoped he could get a good night's sleep before they left tomorrow. Of course Sam could sleep in the car, he always had slept well in the Impala even when he was a baby.

Dean sat down on his bed and started pulling off his boots. He was tired too, and his body was aching a little from the fight, though no more so than an average hunt. He looked up from pulling off his socks to find Sam staring at him.

"What?" he asked. Sam closed his eyes again and took a deep breath then sat up and started taking off his own boots. When he answered it was directed to the carpet.

"The sniper thought Edmunds was you." He said quietly and looked up at Dean with blazing eyes and pursed lips. Dean realized that what he had thought was Sam simply being tired and quiet with it had in fact been Sam just under exploding with rage and hiding it from the cops and Dean.

"What?" Dean asked. How the hell had Sam came up with that? Sam met his eyes and Dean could see he was completely serious.

"Think about it Dean. Holbrook told Edmunds that he wanted this over. Between the two of us we have cost him a _lot_ of money one way or the other. He offered to send men in with him to be sure it was over but Edmunds turned him down. If you were Holbrook would you have trusted Edmunds to handle it? He goofed up and ran in Upstate New York, he couldn't find us after over two weeks of looking, and it's not like you haven't been out and around. Holbrook may be a lot of things, but he is not stupid. He would have had a back up plan to make sure that regardless of what happened with Edmunds the matter was finished." Dean considered Sam's premise.

"Okay, but why me, and not Edmunds as the target? Maybe Holbrook was hedging his bets. You said he was already telling Edmunds not to come around. Maybe he just chose this way to get rid of him. It's a long way from New York and there is no way to trace it back to him. Hell if he was lucky I'd get blamed for the whole thing what with my record." Sam was shaking his head.

"No, you're not looking at this like Holbrook would. As far as he knew only you were going to show up. They thought I was still recovering. The shooter got there _before _Edmunds did, I know he did. I could feel _something, _that someone was watching me.He must have seen me moving around when I got that hex bag but he did nothing. If he had been there to take out Edmunds he could have done it before hand, and it would have been a better frame for you. You set up the meet, you would have known Edmunds was going to be there at that time. You could have been laying in wait for him. But instead he let him go inside, and he didn't know that me taking one of the hex bags would ruin the whole curse, so that means that he was not working _with_ Edmunds or he would have known the plan. Then there's the rest of it."

"The rest of what? I see what you mean, it makes sense, but maybe the guy didn't have a clear shot before, or there was someone in the parking lot. Maybe a cop car was cruising by, or he just wanted to wait."

"I'm telling you Dean. The shooter waited until he saw someone come out and head toward the Impala. You and Edmunds are almost the same height, you have the same body type, you were wearing almost the exact same clothes in the same colors. In that light near the doorway your blond hair and Edmunds' white hair would have looked the same. He was parked right next to the Impala, driver side to driver side, it would have looked like it was you heading toward the car, trying to get away. The shooter was looking through a night scope. You've seen what that looks like, as far as he could tell that was you making a break for it, and he took the shot he was paid to take." Dean listened as Sam reeled off the facts as he saw them, and he had to admit that Sam was probably right. There was a small chance that Edmunds had been the target, but it was more likely that Dean had been it. Well damn.

"Guess Holbrook is a little more of a threat than I thought." He finally said. He had really not expected this kind of thing from Holbrook. Maybe some goons with a beat down. Or a brigade of lawyers with a bunch of lawsuits or restraining orders. But not this. Now he had to factor this in. If Holbrook had gone after him that meant that he would go after Sam too once he figured out that it hadn't been Dean doing all the computer hacking. Dean's stomach knotted. That was not acceptable. "We're going to have to do something about him." Sam looked away, squinting a little at the ugly picture over his bed and scrunching his face up in one of those semi-bitchfaces which Dean had learned to read a long time before. "What did you do, Sammy?"

Sam looked back at him then down. When Dean reached over and poked him in the leg Sam looked up at him through his bangs, and the smile that he gave was that same mischievous smile that he had given Dean as a seven year old. Dean felt his stomach unclench. He didn't know what Sam had done, but something told him that it was going to be just as effective as what he smart little brother had done years before.

"You know I said I had been in the computer system at Tri-Brook?" He asked. Dean nodded. "Well one of the things I found in there was Holbrook's personal tax returns, including his personal property returns for New York which is where his principle residence is. The corporate stuff was kind of complicated but once I saw his returns I knew what to look for. I really couldn't make heads or tails out of much of it, but I looked at his personal property returns for New York. For personal property they tax the real property, the land itself, and then any improvements, and some things like boats. I got to thinking, that building in upstate New York was a company building, and all that stuff in there had to belong to someone, legally. When I was in that warehouse I saw a lot of the paintings, and some of the sculpture and a few of the cars. All of it was purchased through the company, as "investments". The thing is none of them were claimed on the company property tax for New York, the state the _corporation_ is domiciled in. In fact I saw affidavits on a few of the pieces saying they were in corporate offices overseas where they would not be subject to property taxes." He stopped, and Dean could tell that Sam expected some sort of response, but frankly Dean was at a loss. Hunters did not file income tax, and the only property most of them had was in their cars and was highly illegal. The few that did have actual property didn't exactly share their issues over a glass of beer. Sam evidently could read Dean's face as well as Dean could read his.

"They haven't paid any taxes on all that stuff, Dean. For I don't know how many years. There was probably at least a hundred million dollars in that warehouse-at least. Do you have any idea what the property tax on that kind of money is?"

"Not really? Kinda large?" Dean guessed.

"Very large. If I was reading the statutes right the penalties alone could be in the millions, not to mention the back taxes owed. And once they start digging into the property taxes I guess it is pretty standard to move into a full on audit of all corporate holding and those of the board of directors, especially if there are suggestions of improprieties on their part. Which I made. If they can prove that Holbrook knew about it, and since he was using it as his own personal museum and there are a lot of his friends that know about it, he can't say he didn't know. As the Chairman of the board and COO that means that he more or less officially signs off on all those taxes. And that's not counting a few other things I found in his computer that I've sent on to the SEC, the IEC and the DOD. Between the state of New York and the IRS, and any one of those other agencies I figure that he should be looking at some serious time in a federal prison and probably the dismantling of his corporation." Dean considered that for several minutes, marveling at the scope of his little brother's revenge. The big geek had stuffed the ballot box again. He reached over and patted Sam's cheek.

"That'll teach him to mess with my geek of a little brother." Sam smiled at him.

"Couldn't have done it without my over protective big brother." He replied and Dean reached over and ruffled Sam's hair, earning himself a full on bitchface. They had both gotten what they wanted out of this revenge thing, though he had not planned on Edmunds being dead. And, most importantly, they had managed to avoid the dreaded chick-flick moment. He stood up and started stripping down for bed. He was going to sleep well tonight.

Chapter 6-

Two weeks after the events in Iowa Sam and Dean were back at the Men of Letters facility. They had gotten out of St Joseph early the next morning, after stopping at the diner where Dean had stepped into the back briefly with a certain waitress. Sam had rolled his eyes and turned his attention to reading the report of the strange murder that had taken place near a local bar. It seemed that the man killed had been carrying a number of driver's licenses, all of which were bogus. His fingerprints did not pull up on any statewide database, and the authorities were appealing to the feds for any help in identifying the man. They had determined that he had been in a fight of some sort and had a broken arm. The fatal shot had been fired from a distance of approximately 300 feet by a silenced rifle. They had no suspects at this time.

Sam suspected that whomever it was that had done the shooting would be forever a mystery as long as Holbrook had paid off the shooter, or someone didn't roll on him to save their own ass in the event it was one of Holbrook's business associates who set it up. That would be a heck of a bargaining chip for charge reduction. He could only hope that would come to pass.

He had been happily monitoring the incipient fall of Tri-Brook industries online. The New York Department of Revenue had moved in quickly. It must have been a slow week at the local offices because the warehouse where Sam had been held had been inspected three days ago. A warrant had been issued to Tri-Brook to provide records of all purchases and to explain why none of the item had been claimed on their property taxes, and why in fact the county tax records had been outright falsified regarding the inventory held at that facility. That had been the first blow of many to come. There was also an announcement in the Wall Street Journal saying that that Tri-Brook Industries stock was falling upon the announcement that the IRS had instituted a full audit of the company's finances based on materials received from an anonymous tip. The article indicated that the company was suspected of having hidden a huge amount of assets through some creative and illegal offshore manipulation and that _all_ of the board of directors were being personally audited as well. There was a small added paragraph that the reporter had uncovered that Holbrook was being investigated by his insurance company for insurance fraud because of the destruction of three of his personal vacation homes and his personal yacht. There was also an innuendo about rumors being circulated about Holbrook's finances.

Some digging online had revealed that a Department of Defense allocations panel had decided to review their contracts with Tri-Brook because of reports that they had received showing that Tri-Brook had doctored results on tests of military weapons being produced by the company for use in the war on terror. The true results had been suppressed to hide the fact that the very expensive parts that Tri-Brooks were providing were made of sub-standard materials that could fail during regular operation of the weapons, resulting in the deaths of those using them. The evidence that they had received had included several emails from Holbrook himself, encouraging the cover-up.

Sam was really quite pleased with his results overall. Maybe it was not as viscerally satisfying as Dean's beat down of Edmunds, but he was pretty sure that for Holbrook this was worse than any physical pain he could have inflicted. He had been rather taken aback by the speculation regarding just how much tax fraud was involved, and the amount that would be recovered by the IRS not to mention what kind of fines might be levied because of the other transgressions.

It was that very amount that caused him to not tell Dean about the other thing he had done. When he had submitted his tip to the IRS he had done it through their 'whistleblower' program, but he had done it in the name of the man in security at the Tri-Brook Industries main office, the one that had taken the chance to send the video. If the IRS did indeed find Tri-Brook, or Holbrook himself, had falsified or under-reported their taxes, and from what Sam could tell, they had, then the man would collect between 15-30% of the taxes collected and the penalties levied. It would be a very large sum. His wife's medical bills would be covered and they would have money left over too. Which was probably good as there was a possibility he would not have a job soon. For himself Sam did not begrudge them the money. The man's bold email had given Sam the information he needed to help Dean, to be there for his brother at least once more before the end of the trials. Sam could not be sure that if he had _not_ found out about what Edmunds had planned that Dean would not be dead or at least badly injured. For that he would give up any amount of money.

Not that he thought it would make all that much difference to Dean, really, but he knew it could have made a big difference in some things, and he hated to think about those maybes, especially in light of what might be coming in the next trial. If Sam should not survive then Dean would be alone, and if he had some resources…..But Sam had to think that he _could_ survive this, he had to. He could not let Dean think that Sam was at a point that he almost did not care anymore, that as long as the gates were closed that what ever happened to Sam was beside the point. Dean would be angry at that, especially after Sam's reaction to Dean's own fatalistic take on the trials back in the beginning of this whole thing. No, Sam would just keep that to himself, along with the part about the whistleblower money.

He closed the web pages he had been visiting and looked around. He had not heard from Dean in a while now. Sam was sitting in the library and he had assumed that Dean was around somewhere, maybe cleaning his weapons, or fiddling with some of the Men of Letter's weird artifacts that were in the storage areas below. Sam was pretty sure that Dean would not have gone too far without telling him, but he could be outside working on the Impala.

He got up and started toward the kitchen, thinking maybe his bottomless pit of a brother was working on lunch. It was about that time, and he knew Dean had stocked up the kitchen the day before. Since that time he didn't think he had seen his brother at all with out him having something in his hand to either eat or drink. Dean really was becoming quite domesticated, if you could ever apply that term to Dean.

His brother was not in the kitchen, though he did notice that there was something in the oven that smelled pretty good. Opening it he found a formally frozen lasagna bubbling merrily. Lunch evidently. He decided to make a salad to go along with the lasagna and some garlic bread. He would probably not get Dean to eat any of the greens, but he would enjoy the bread. He was putting the finishing touches on the salad when he heard Dean's boots on the stairs coming into the facility and a moment later his brother appeared in the doorway with a grin on his face and stripping off his jacket.

"Hey Sammy, found the lasagna I see. Is it about done?" Sam nodded and put the salad and bread on the table where he had already laid out plates and silverware. Dean slung his jacket over a chair and went to pull the Lasagna out of the oven, dropping it on the table then going to the fridge for a beer for himself and a water for Sam. He plopped down in the chair and dug a huge portion of the lasagna out of the dish onto his plate. He rolled his eyes as Sam took a much smaller portion and filled most of his plate with salad.

They ate in companionable silence until they were both done and sitting back finishing their drinks. Dean reached into his pocket and tossed something across the table at Sam. Whatever it was flopped down beside his plate and he looked at it curiously. It was actually two somethings, two tickets. Sam cast a puzzled glance at the now smirking Dean and picked up the tickets. He read them with disbelief.

The tickets were to the Radiohead concert in Wichita that evening. The seats were premium box seats right in front of the stage that must have cost at least a couple of hundred dollars each. He looked back at Dean and the smirk had gentled to smile. Dean stood up and grabbed his coat.

"Come on Sammy, we got a three hour drive to get to Wichita in time to get dinner and make it to the arena in time for the concert. I figure if we haul ass we can even stop at that book store you liked so much last time we were there." He headed out the door saying something about using the little boy's room and that Sam should dump the dishes in the sink and leave them till they got back.

Sam stood up and smiled to himself as he did what Dean said, sliding the rest of the food into the fridge. It had been one hell of a month. He had gotten his revenge on the men that had taken him away from his brother, and now he and Dean would be spending some time doing something just for fun. Regardless of what might be coming in the next few weeks, he had this, and for him it was enough.

The End

Authors Note: I do not know anything about tax law, property taxes, hacking, or any of that stuff. I have used them in the story as a plot device, and everything said about anything like that is purely fictional.


End file.
